


naught but memories

by Saraste



Series: Femslash February 2020 [26]
Category: Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Angst, Day 26. candle, F/F, Femslash February 2020, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22908778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Written for day 26. candle of Femslash February 2020.
Relationships: Carmilla | Mircalla Countess Karnstein/Laura
Series: Femslash February 2020 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619392
Kudos: 14
Collections: Femslash February





	naught but memories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 26. candle of Femslash February 2020.

Every year, on the day of her final demise, Laura lights a candle in memory of Carmilla and thinks of her.

She thinks of her every single other day of the year as well, of course, but the day of her demise is for regrets and aching longing, and self-recrimination. On the day of Carmilla's demise, Laura wishes for death.

She often stares at the flame, almost hypnotized, thinking if she could atone, if only a little, if she pushed it over, let it spread it's potential for destruction, and not fight it as she was consumed by the spreading flames, surrendering to pain and the embrace of death. But yet, she does not deserve to die, because she is doomed to live and remember, to keep the memory of Carmilla alive, because she can never be forgiven for not stopping it. And there is no embrace of death that she can choose, when it cannot be in Carmilla’s beloved embrace, as it should have been, their existences twined together, living and loving in death, together forever.

However, she can think about it, about choosing death, making it happen, even if she can’t do it, even when she doesn’t deserve an easy out.

So, she mourns and she remembers and she aches.

She stares at the candle’s flame and remembers how candlelight had softened Carmilla’s sometime sharpness, how it had made her dark hair almost glow, how it had glinted on her sharp teeth when she had smiled in a certain way right before her sharp kiss.

And she shivers and does not think of deeper, firmer, fiercer touches, of lips that knew how to be both cruel and kind, of fingers that could trail through hair and press against her sweetly enough that she did not know which way was up, drowning in delight.

She does not think of touching back, offering what she had learned mimicking Carmilla and following her instruction, the responses of her beloved body, of being allowed and seeing what loving was, what Carmilla was.

The candle throws long shadows and she allows herself to weep, shaking and broken, trapped in a life she had never wanted, alone, with naught but her memories for comfort. 

  
  



End file.
